Russia: Day Two, Part One - Yaroslavl to Kostroma to Plyos

The next morning we all agree that this wasn’t the Ritz.  And the breakfast is as no-frills as the rooms.  Still it’s enough fuel to keep us going:  a slice of mortadella on bread, two crêpes with jam (the best part), and a lukewarm, watery flan that I’m told is called an omelet here.  But everyone takes it in stride, secretly hoping tonight’s quarters won’t be similar.  This is a good group, with everyone upbeat and happy to be in each other’s company.

The Duma (Parliament)

Andreï is our bus driver and he explains why the bus bears the German word Reise - travel - on it.  It’s not the only one we will see or ride in.  It appears that when the German tour companies feel their buses are too old to suit demanding Deutsche standards, they sell them.  And Russia is a prime client. So far both buses have been very comfortable, and this smaller one has more than enough room for our little tribe.  If we wanted to, we could all have a row to ourselves, but groups have already begun to coalesce.
       We’re off to discover Yaroslavl on the Volga, and the sun plays hide and seek behind storm clouds for a striking backdrop either way.  The central part of town is majestic, with far fewer cars than you’d see in a Western city of its size.  But waaaay more pedestrians than America could ever scrape together, even on a good day (except maybe NYC).
       This is one of the oldest cities in Russia (founded 1010 Vladimir tells us), with a population of well over half a million.  The old part of town is on UNESCO’s World Heritage list.  It’s long been a trading center, with the Volga boatmen by river plus the famous Transsiberian railroad overland. So definitely not a backwater.  Still it is genteel and doesn’t make us feel rushed.

     We walk along the blue waters of the Volga, past churches and other important-looking buildings to the park at its confluent with the Kotorosi.   The park’s gardeners are highly skilled.  One garden of flowers depicts a bear with an axe on its shoulder, the emblem of the city, and the year 1005 spelled out in flowers.  Vladimir was off by five years.  But it’s not his fault; that’s what’s carved on that huge rock in front of the Cathedral of the Assumption (see below).

       In another park, off to the side, young girls, their hair held up in white ribbons, lay wreaths on the War Monument while soldiers strut their stuff for a changing of the guards and a military band plays brass-ly.  This year is the 70th anniversary of the end of World War II, and such festivities will be a continuing experience throughout our trip.  The USSR suffered many deaths during the war - 20 million civilians and military combined, or more - and for survivors, injuries changed forever the lives of men like the one in his wheelchair in front of the next stop:  our first church.

Cathedral of the Assumption

       The Cathedral of the Assumption is a name we will see time and time again, proving I guess that Mary is as important to Russian Orthodoxy as she is to Roman Catholicism.  The cathedral was entirely rebuilt, one of many victims of the attempt to stamp out religion, The Opiate of the People. Its outer walls are covered with colorful ceramic tiles depicting animals, both real and mythical, some of which remind me of Pennsylvania Dutch designs, especially the distelfink.  But its greatest asset is its onion domes, in the standard layout:  a big one in the middle and four smaller ones at the corners.  All are gilded and glinting even if the sun isn’t always overhead.  And this church also has a small onion dome over its front door, just for good measure.  Inside there’s even more gold, with a gilt iconostasis - a patchwork of icons over the altar - and more gilt all over the tomb of someone I didn’t get the name of (for lack of Russian), not to mention chandeliers and candelabras galore.  With a chorale singing, it’s all very beautiful and grandiose.

     Then it’s off to a tiny house which has become The Museum of Music and Time.  Someone’s hobby took a serious turn here and ultimately filled this house with clocks and also instruments of music.  Every single clock keeps time and also chimes, a concert we’re treated to as we’re there on the hour.
       Our guide Tatiana is young and very pretty, as well as able to answer any question we raise... and we raise a lot!  The musical instruments are in the basement, so many of them that I’m overwhelmed and decide to go outside to enjoy the birdsong, the fragrance of the lime trees  and the sound of laughter from a day care center next door.
       After that it’s back to the bus.  Our thoughtful Andreï has turned on the piped music.  First one hour of a somber a capella men’s choir, followed by Eurovision.  Nothing if not eclectic.

Kostroma

We discover a new city:  Kostroma.  Also on the Volga, but here the river is over half a mile wide.  The city is as old as Moscow and named after the pagan goddess of death - a strange choice of name but I’m sure they had their reasons.  It’s also the home of the Romanovs, which will explain some things to come.  The Romanov dynasty ruled Russia for 300 years, and the execution of Nicolaï II and his family after the takeover by the Communists could be seen as the Russian version of what the French Revolution did to King Louis XVI and his entire family.
       Lunch is nice:  a salad, then borscht, some chicken with... you guessed it:  potatoes.  And for dessert what I would call a palmier puff pastry with a lovely cup of tea.

Sloboda Museum of Wooden Architecture

 And it’s off to the Sloboda Museum of Wooden Architecture.  It’s a bit like a smaller version of Henry Ford’s Greenfield Village, for those of you who have been there.  Its purpose is to show how things once were, right down to a few of the staff dressed in simili-period costumes (except for the shoes).  One woman sits knitting on the porch of an izba.

       We are shown around by another Andreï, who speaks excellent French and really doesn’t look his age:  83!  I’m sure some hair dye helps, but his energy level is amazing. He says it’s a great honor for him to escort us around, and perhaps he doesn’t get much of a chance to welcome visitors from France.  He explains that there’s a fee to take photos of the village-museum, but it’s so little that it really doesn’t matter.  And it goes to a good cause.
       Andreï explains that the traditional izba is made from what the child in me would call Lincoln Logs.  A mark of rural wealth, a home with these round logs is warmer than a flat-board house, offers better insulation, lasts longer... but is much more expensive to build. When we see the interior of one of the izbas, these “peasants” must have been plenty wealthy.  All their trunks are painted with bright colors and traditional designs, and the vintage clothes hanging from the rafters are quite good quality.  Andreï strikes up quite a conversation with The Other Vladimir (whom I shall call Vlad from now on, for clarity’s sake); after all, they’re both about the same age.
      There’s also a lovely wooden church, its roof sharply pointed heavenward.  This is the Church of the Virgin Mary and dates - amazingly for a wooden structure - from 1552.

Zmei Gorynytch

       Streams meander through the village and art students on day trips with their school are drawing various landscapes.  I hope one of them immortalized my favorite feature:  a wooden sculpture of a three-headed dragon - Zmei Gorynytch, who, according to the Russian fairy tales, breathes fire... which would be quite a dangerous feat for a wooden dragon.  I find him quite likeable in this version.  Must be the pot belly.
       And of course there’s a shop selling souvenirs.  I could call them tchotchkes, because it sounds Russian to me, but I know that’s Yiddish, so I don’t.

Church of the Virgin Mary

(to be continued)